


Third Drawer Down

by loyalnerdwp



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post The Great Game, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalnerdwp/pseuds/loyalnerdwp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not reluctant to cuff you over the head," John quipped. "You know exactly what I meant. What are we doing, how far is this going?"</p><p>Sherlock lifted his head and pulled back to look John in the eye. "How far are you comfortable?" he inquired breathlessly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Drawer Down

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, no hate - this is my first ever slash fic; top it off with the fact that I'm a fifteen year old girl with all the sexual experience of a paper plate and you get this. Written for a minific requested on my tumblr and it turned out a lot longer than I expected.

"Sorry, boys! I'm _sooooooooooo_ changeable!"

In that moment, if it were possible for John's heart to race any faster without him having a heart attack, it would have risen to no end. The second he thought they were actually going to get out without being blown up the madman just waltzed back in like it was no big deal. _So changeable_. It made the doctor want to retch, but that wasn't exactly an appropriate reaction right then.

"It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself - it is my only weakness!" A smirk twisted Moriarty's expression into a slightly manic one. "You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't."

God, the smug tone in his voice made the hair on the back of Sherlock's neck prickle up and anger bubble under the surface of his skin. Of course, it also fascinated him to see how the psychopath thought, to change his mind just seconds out the door and decide the two men inside must die for reasons unmentioned. The thought, however, that John was here and had been in the clutches of death because Moriarty had figured out that he-- Nevertheless, he was more full of white rage than anything at that time.

"I would try to convince you, but - everything I have to say has already crossed your _mind_."

And then Sherlock was looking down at John, imploring and questioning - _is this okay, can I do this - can I end it all?_ The doctor nodded, just the tiniest centimetre because he knew Sherlock could see, the weight of the situation all too present on his shoulders and jesus christ he'd just signed his own death certificate with his flatmate, a man he'd known still less than a year. The entire thing was spinning his mind in circles as the fact became apparent that he was about to die. Die with his friend in a swimming pool in the dead of night to stop a psychopath. When had his life become this? He spent less than a day with Sherlock before moving in completely willingly. The detective cured his limp and brought him adventures and got him kidnapped and threatened and made the doctor inexplicably fall for him and it was all bloody brilliant; John decided he wouldn't have traded any of it in a second.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." With a deep breath, Sherlock was turning, aiming the gun at his opponent and then slotting it down to put the pile of parka and Semtex in the crosshairs. John could see black starting to curl in around the edges of his vision, his breathing hitching slightly and whole body trembling against the wall of the pool. To him, this felt entirely more like dying than when he'd been shot in Afghanistan. There wasn't anything they could do in this situation; there was no one else around and Moriarty clearly wasn't moving. They couldn't wriggle out of it. All in all, they were utterly-

_"Ah, ah, ah, ah, Stayin' Alive, Stayin' Alive!"_

Through the blood rushing in the doctor's ears he heard music cut into the tense silence of the room and catch all three men off guard. Sherlock turned to meet John's eyes in confusion - the fear was still present in both their eyes and it was brought to his attention that John had never seen such an emotion in the detective's expression; there was hardly anything there most of the time, and to see something so out of character present itself on his stoic mask stirred something up in the doctor's chest that he couldn't identify.

"D'you mind if I get that?"

"Oh, no, you've got the rest of your life," Sherlock all but spat. The madman took his phone call, leaving John and Sherlock to eye each other incredulously. Questions and thoughts unvocalised spun in the air around them - _"what's going to happen? - are you alright? - **I thought we were about to lose everything**."_ \- as Moriarty spoke, words lost to the two mens' ears.

"Sorry," Moriarty interrupted, staring down at his phone. "Wrong day to die."

Sherlock returned his attention to the criminal and spoke, "oh, did you get a better offer?"

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," the psychopath warned, turning away and lifting the phone back to his ears. "So! If you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes..." He strolled out of the pool and the door shut with a creak behind him.

"What happened there?" John asked breathlessly, tilting his head back to rest against the wall. Oh, god, christ, they were alive and Moriarty was gone. Unless he had the mind to turn around again - the doctor remained on his guard.

"Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?" The detective's words had a slight waver to them; even if his breathing wasn't as erratic as John's, the doctor could easily tell he was a bit off his game.

"Forgive me for saying, but I couldn't bloody well care less right now," John mumbled, swallowing hard against the taste of bile rising in the back of his throat. His legs finally gave out and he slumped down against the floor, trying desperately to control the trembling weakness of his limbs. Sherlock, despite himself, chuckled airily at John's comment and strode over, seemingly entirely steady. When he reached the wall, however, he all but collapsed against it and slid down to the floor next to John, a slight break in his stoic mask forming as he leant back against it.

"You okay?" the doctor asked after a moment of listening to their heavy breathing echo off the water and walls of the room.

"Fine," Sherlock confirmed with a nod. John cocked his head to the side to regard the detective.

"To be honest, you don't look very fine," he said with a raised brow. "And you're normally pretty good at hiding it, but I can tell sometimes. And you definitely don't look fine." Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes but John cut him off. "Really, Sherlock, you're allowed to act scared. You're a human - not to mention one who nearly got blown up."

"If I were scared, which I am not, that wouldn't be the reason. I get myself into life threatening situations weekly," Sherlock argued. The slight tremble in his voice near the beginning wasn't reassuring.

"Then why would you be afraid?" the doctor asked incredulously. "What else is there to fear?"

There was long silence as a pondering look crossed the detective's face. To John, it looked as though he were thinking about what scared him more than death; in reality, Sherlock was contemplating revealing what terrified him.

"You ended up strapped to Semtex in the hands of a psychopath because I got so caught up in his game," he eventually informed his flatmate. "Because I couldn't bring myself to care for anything more than-"

"No, no, Sherlock," John intercepted hurriedly, "it was my own fault, I shouldn't have been out when we knew Moriarty was mucking about uncaught."

"I could have stopped you from going, easily," Sherlock countered. "I lied and said I turned the Plans into Mycroft and sought out to meet Moriarty here instead." The detective tipped his head back against the wall so he was looking at the ceiling and shut his eyes. John was positive he saw a flash of genuine remorse before his face returned to its usual blank state.

"You were actually scared that I was going to die," John mumbled in disbelief. "Why me? Just a hostage, like the others, wasn't I? Perfectly capable of getting me out of it like you did almost everyone else."

"Don't say that," Sherlock muttered with a snarl to his tone. It made John freeze and reconsider the state of the detective's emotional centre. Sherlock switched tracks entirely. "Tell me what you think he meant."

"... I'm sorry?"

"Moriarty, tell me what you think he meant by, 'I will burn the heart out of you'." The sentence struck a pang in Sherlock's chest; as a practical mirror image of the psychopath he understood what he meant entirely, and now he wondered if John had caught on.

"Oh," the doctor mumbled bewilderedly. "Ah, I don't know. Everything he said was a bit lost to me."

"Surely, you understand, John. It's so obvious; just _think_ ," he said exasperatedly. His tone made a twitch of irritation form in the doctor's head but he forced it down and kept calm. "Why would he choose you this time when it could have been any oblivious passerby like before? He went and took you off the street. It wasn't to lure me into a situation, I was inviting him. So that means-"

"It was a warning," John finished. "He was warning you. But what of? That still doesn't explain the- oh." A look of realisation came over the doctor's face when he saw the despaired expression on Sherlock's. "Oh. He means me. When he said he would burn the heart out of you he meant... Me. Because... Because you have feelings for me."

Sherlock nodded slowly before risking a look over at John. He seemed puzzled, but there was a smile growing on his face. "What?" the detective questioned, furrowing his brow in confusion. John just shook his head and let out a chuckle.

"Oh, god, we're both idiots," he said, the smile turning into a wide grin. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to say something but John cut him off by leaning over and capturing him in a kiss. The detective made a noise of surprise and froze momentarily before apprehensively returning the action. His eyes fluttered shut and he set the pistol in his hand down in favour of threading his long fingers into the hair at the base of John's neck. John did the same, running his hand through Sherlock's curls as he'd thought about doing so many times before; they were even more smooth and soft than he'd imagined.

"You never said anything," the detective mumbled against John's lips. "Or showed any outward signs."

"Well, one tends to get nervous about coming out with their feelings to a self-declared sociopath who seems to also be completely asexual," John returned, brushing the tips of his fingers over Sherlock's cliff-high cheekbones. "You also start to get pretty good at hiding it. That's my excuse - what's yours?"

"Mine would be you, announcing your heterosexuality every time you were given the chance and dating every dull woman that crossed your path." Sherlock nipped lightly at the doctor's bottom lip and smiled slightly when he felt a shiver run over him.

"So, for the most part, if we'd been smart enough to just stop and talk-"

"I'll have you know that insulting my intelligence is a great way to get me to both stop talking and kissing you entirely," the detective warned with a raised brow and a smirk.

"Mm, s'pose I ought to shut up, then," John muttered. He used Sherlock's mouth to quiet his own, sliding his fingers from the detective's tousled hair to his neck and pulling him in closer. Sherlock responded more enthusiastically than last time and leant up off the wall to get a better angle and keep a crick from forming in his neck.

The kiss started out extremely uncoordinated and messy and it was terribly obvious to John that Sherlock had never kissed anyone. The thought, though, that he was the first to feel the slow slide of his god damned near-perfect lips and those spidery fingers on his neck was (as ridiculous as it may seem) a sort of honour and let him forget about it entirely. He could tell Sherlock was analysing the whole thing when his brow furrowed slightly and he became less responsive.

"Oi," John murmured, cautiously running his tongue along the detective's cupid's bow. It drew a soft noise in close relation to a whimper from the back of his throat. "Are you unable to stop thinking for twenty seconds?"

"Twenty seconds is far too much of a challenge," Sherlock quipped, mimicking John's action but against his bottom lip. "Might be able to last fifteen, but no promises." John chortled softly and shivered when the detective raked his hand through the doctor's hair and down his neck to rest on his shoulder and pull him closer. After a few minutes more of Sherlock figuring out the rhythm of the entire thing and returning a proper snogging to John, the doctor recognised a familiar warmth pooling in his abdomen and reluctantly pulled back.

"Mmph," Sherlock protested, snaking his other arm around John's waist and attempting to hold him still.

"Sherlock, we're sitting on the floor of a swimming pool in the dead of night and I'm still not convinced that madman is going to stay away. Mind heading back to the flat?" the doctor cupped Sherlock's cheek and gave him an imploring look. "And once we get back home I certainly wouldn't protest to... continuing." 

The detective rolled his eyes but complied. He stole another quick kiss before pushing to his feet and holding a hand down to John to help him up.

\--

The cab ride had been a sort of torture. The detective had a habit of tapping his fingers against things incessantly when he was extremely impatient and about halfway through the ride John was sure the sound of fingertips hitting trouser material had magnified ten times. He'd eventually reached over and snatched Sherlock's hand up in his own and shot him a warning glare.

The minute they stepped into they foyer John found himself under the detective's full attention, arms already around his waist and pulling him up on to his tip-toes into a kiss.

"Christ, can we at least get upstairs?" he mumbled against Sherlock's lips. His tone wasn't protesting, nor were his actions, but the detective managed to let him go and tug him in the direction of the stairs. The doctor couldn't help but chuckle at Sherlock's enthusiasm - for someone who appeared just hours ago to have no sex drive, he was certainly eager to snog his flatmate into oblivion.

Once he'd pulled John up into the sitting room, Sherlock kicked the door shut and loomed over his doctor, stepping toward him until he was backed into a wall and looking up at the detective with a wicked grin. His hands slowly ghosted their way down John's sides until they found a comfortable position on his waist. With a final step forward, his front was flush against John's and he was leaning down again to envelope him in a kiss - far more coordinated than it had been even just under fifteen minutes ago. The doctor was rather impressed at how quickly Sherlock had picked up on it. There was still the occasional - awkward - click of teeth against teeth but, despite being the one pressed up against the wall, John managed to gain control and stop it. His arms snuck up and wrapped around Sherlock's neck as he delved deeper into the kiss, cautiously running his tongue along the detective's lip and practically begging for permission. He was quickly granted it; Sherlock's lips parted obediently and he gave a soft moan when John sucked lightly on his tongue.

The mix of sensations was getting to Sherlock's head in a way that actually was causing him to do as John had asked earlier; he was having trouble thinking at all. He knew the reason for this as well, but it had flitted somewhere to the very dustiest part of his mind palace and left him overwhelmed and rather breathless. A primal urge had him pressing his hips hard against John's, causing a low moan to slip from the doctor's mouth against Sherlock's tongue. He could feel the warmth pooling again in his abdomen and his prick stirred in interest. 

Unlatching himself from the detective's mouth, John traced a line down his jaw with his lips - tongue darting out occasionally to tease along the skin - and on to Sherlock's neck. This part of the man particularly piqued John's interest, and especially at the most inconvenient of times. God, there were absolute miles of it; smooth, pale, unmarred, bloody gorgeous and John's for the taking. He mouthed kisses underneath Sherlock's jaw and in a trail downward to the perfect dip where neck met shoulder, where he sucked and nibbled lightly. 

Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and he tipped his head forward to rest against John's. His deep moan of "Oh, _god_ " was muffled by blond-grey hairs and his fingers gripped tighter on his doctor's hips, automatically rocking them together again in a search for more friction. The motion caught John off guard and drew a surprised noise from him - Sherlock's enthusiasm was far more evident than before and the doctor felt himself begin hardening quickly. 

"Sherlock," he gasped, "what are we doing here?" 

"I believe this is snogging, unless I've opened the wrong archive," the detective said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I'm not reluctant to cuff you over the head," John quipped. "You know exactly what I meant. What are we doing, how far is this going?"

Sherlock lifted his head and pulled back to look John in the eye. "How far are you comfortable?" he inquired breathlessly.  

The look of him made John's mind blank entirely. His pupils were blown wide so that his irises were slivers and his hair was disheveled in the most attractive way imaginable. Add in the fact that his lips were already slightly swollen from all the kissing and John was gone for it. He threaded his fingers back into Sherlock's hair and pulled him down into a kiss, lust-addled and messy. The detective slid his arms around John's waist and held him close, angling down into the kiss and urging John on. He took his turn to experiment with slipping his tongue into his doctor's mouth (which, it turned out, he was even better than John at) and soon his doctor was all but writhing against him.

"Bedroom," John managed to say in between kisses. 

"Best suggestion you've made in days." Sherlock took John's lip and nipped at it a moment before turning and pulling his doctor behind him down the hall. He threw the door open and returned his attention to John, grabbing his hand and stepping backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed, whereupon he fell backwards and tugged his doctor down on top of him. John quickly discarded his coat on the floor before rolling Sherlock over and urging his off as well. It dropped to the ground with a thump of heavy material and the detective moved his hands back to settle on John's waist. The doctor rolled his hips up into Sherlock's and their erections rubbed together, drawing rather embarrassing noises from both men. The detective ushered him further on to the bed and began undoing his cardigan with skilled digits. John unfastened Sherlock's suit jacket and slid it off, then tossed it elsewhere and moved to work at his shirt. There was a good deal of fumbling with the buttons (mostly on John's part) but both managed to remove their partner's shirt and take a moment to admire the newly revealed skin. 

John had seen Sherlock shirtless before - they shared a flat, after all, and the detective was extremely lazy when it came to clothing on a case-free day - but it was different in this light. He was more scar-mottled than many would expect, though they were small for the most part. There was a particularly spectacular gash of raised tissue around ten centimetres long on the right side of his torso that John took note to observe closer on a later date. Sherlock, even addled with lust, was ever fascinated with the starburst scar spreading over John's left shoulder. His spindly fingers moved to run along the wonderfully disfigured skin and take in every turn and bump with surgical precision. Being under the detective's scrutinizing eye always made John feel very aware of everything he was sure Sherlock could see, but to have his scar viewed as something completely different than it was made something warm swell up in his chest and brought a crooked grin to his face. Sherlock leant down and pressed a kiss on to the most prominent bit, the part where the bullet had entered, and traced his lips over a branch and up until he met the smooth skin of John's neck. He nuzzled up into the space under his doctor's jaw and began sucking with intentions of leaving a dark mark; a nice, prominent love bite that signified possession. _His_ doctor, his John, and he couldn't give less of a fuck to whoever saw. 

"Oh, Christ, Sherlock," John babbled absently. "Jesus, that feels amazing." Sherlock smiled into his skin and bit down mercilessly; not enough to draw blood, but certainly enough to leave a good bruise. The doctor yelped in surprise and gripped the duvet tightly through the wave of hurt and filthy pleasure pulsing in his neck. The idea that the pain turned him on further should have been more concerning but all he could concentrate on was the detective returning his attention to his mouth. Sherlock moved a hand to start working at John's belt and the doctor paused.

"Shit," he mumbled, "we need-" 

"Third drawer down," Sherlock interrupted. He moved his hand from John's front down to his arse and reached into his back pocket, from which he produced the doctor's wallet. John cocked a questioning brow. 

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, really, like I didn't know where you were planning on going tonight," Sherlock countered. He reached inside and pulled out a condom with a pointed look and John flushed red. "No matter. Third drawer?" The doctor nodded and manoeuvred himself from under Sherlock to reach into the nightstand and pull out a mostly full bottle of lube. The thought that Sherlock even had it puzzled him, but no matter how much the detective tried to avoid human needs and actions, he supposed there were always some necessary things. He turned back around to Sherlock and set the lube on the bed beside him, then quickly leant up and recaptured him in a kiss. The detective tossed John's wallet to the floor and set the condom next to the lube as his doctor pushed him over on to his back. 

Since Sherlock had been determined enough to leave a mark, John decided to take his turn and return to where he'd started before. He worked his way down the detective's neck and back to that fantastic crook and resumed biting and sucking with abandon. Sherlock gasped and dug his fingers into John's sides before making better use of them and shifting to start undoing his doctor's belt. Once certain that the detective's mark would be almost as showing as his own, John trailed his tongue up the other man's neck and to his lips again. If someone had told him five months ago that he'd be snogging his _male_ flatmate in his bed at half one in the morning after almost getting killed by a psychopath, he probably would have had them committed. Especially if they added the fact that he was about to shag him. He was much more comfortable with the entire experience than he thought he'd be - then again, he was overwhelmed with arousal and the amazingly strange scent of the detective enveloping him, along with the unimaginably delicious taste on his tongue. All in all, his thoughts were a bit off kilter, but it was bloody sensational. 

His belt was pulled off and moments later Sherlock's joined it somewhere else in the room. Trousers and pants were undone and pulled off with haste, leaving the two stark naked and raking their eyes over each other with interest. 

"Bloody gorgeous," John mumbled absentmindedly, drifting his fingertips down Sherlock's chest and stopping just above his shaft. The detective made a soft noise of obvious want and stretched his neck up to steal John's bottom lip between his teeth, lick and suck and kiss him. The doctor responded well and kissed him back, holding himself up on the bed with his forearm and leaning over Sherlock. The detective reached down and took their cocks in his hand, causing both of them to groan loudly with the brilliant friction, and stroked them together. 

"Nng, n- Sherlock, s-stop," John managed after a few moments. Christ, this wasn't going to take long. "Too close, stop." Sherlock reluctantly let go, fingers trembling as they dropped back to the duvet. Without second guessing himself, John reached back to fumble over the bed until he found the lube and popped the cap open. He coated his fingers and repositioned himself so he was kneeling in between the detective's legs, then hooked one of Sherlock's ankles over his shoulder. With a deep breath he moved his slick digits over Sherlock's prick (inducing a low moan and a shiver), down past his balls and to tease around his arsehole. 

"Oh, fuck," Sherlock moaned, dropping his head back, jaw slacking slightly. John cautiously pushed his finger in against the tight flesh and curled it before pulling out. He worked in and out of the detective until he was loose enough for two fingers, and as he started on three Sherlock grabbed his wrist to stop him. 

"Good enough. Not going to last long if you keep up with that," he said breathlessly. The doctor nodded and pulled away to grab the condom. He ripped the package open and rolled it on, then slicked himself up liberally. Sherlock hooked his other leg up over John's shoulder and propped himself up on his elbows. They met eyes and John was once again rendered breathless by the strange gloriousness of his flatmate with his mad hair and glowing eyes and the look he was being given. The doctor swallowed hard and lined his prick up with Sherlock's entrance, then shot his lover a small smile before pushing forward. 

A deep, throaty groan escaped both men and Sherlock's head fell backwards against the bed. John leant his forehead against the detective's thigh and steadied his breathing for a moment. 

"Okay?" he managed, voice rough and low. 

"Brilliant," Sherlock exhaled. John nodded and pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of the detective's leg before rocking forward slightly. With a reassuring noise from Sherlock he started out a steady rhythm, slow thrusts forward and back and his hands wandering around over the detective's thighs and chest and eventually one wrapping around his cock and pulling him off in time with his movements. 

Sherlock bore down against John until he was up to the hilt. "Harder," he hissed, fingers gripping the duvet tightly. The doctor grinned and pulled back so he was nearly out of the detective, then snapped his hips forward, brushing up against Sherlock's prostate and making him cry out deeply. The sound made a beeline for John's prick and motivated him to do it again, move faster and harder, jerk the detective off quicker. Sherlock could feel a tell-tale tightening building up in his abdomen and he leant up to thread his fingers into John's hair and pull him down for a slippery kiss. 

"Close?" Sherlock inquired airily against his lips.

"Extremely," John breathed. He thrust forward again and shivered at the filthy groan that trickled off Sherlock's lips. There was a generous amount of pre-cum leaking from the head of his cock, which he smeared with his thumb and coated the detective's length with, allowing him to stroke quicker and more smoothly. 

"Oh, god, John," Sherlock moaned, pressing their foreheads together. "Fuck, that feels amazing." 

"Don't think I've ever heard such vulgar language from you," John said with a grin. "Christ, it's fucking fantastic. You're gorgeous like this." 

The detective shouted and his fingers gripped John's hair tightly as he came hard all over the doctor's hand and his own stomach. The feeling of him clenching tight around John's prick pushed the doctor over the edge right behind him and the world went shining, bright, and spotty behind his eyelids. He continued stroking the detective as they rode every wave of their orgasms, until he could feel him relaxing against him. They sat together a moment, the only noise in the room being their heavy breathing, and then John gripped the base of the condom and pulled out. Sherlock winced as he did so. 

"God, that's going to be sore later," he muttered.

"You asked for it," John reminded him with a grin. 

"Mm, worth it." The detective pushed backwards and pulled his legs off of the doctor's shoulders with another grimace. John pulled the condom off and moved to the edge of the bed. 

"Be right back," he said, and then strode out of the room. He binned the condom in the loo and washed his hands, then grabbed a cloth and dampened it before returning to the detective's bedroom. Without hesitation, he climbed on to the bed and cleaned off his stomach. The rag was thrown to the floor next to their clothes and John was drawn close to Sherlock, his back to the detective's chest, in a loose embrace.  

"Pretty good night, aside from nearly being blown up," John pondered. Sherlock chortled in that way he reserved only for the doctor and nuzzled his nose into his neck. 

"I'm torn between finding him and killing him, or thanking him," the detective mused, eyelids shutting with heavy sleepiness. 

"Could do both. Not necessarily in that order." John yawned and wriggled closer to Sherlock, head settling on a pillow that smelled extraordinarily of the detective's madly expensive shampoo and vaguely of cigarettes. He'd have to make note to search around his room for a pack Sherlock was sure to have hidden too well for him to actually find. 

"Mm. Will bother with it later. Need sleep." John smiled into the cool pillow as Sherlock's absent mumbling became lost to his ears and he fell asleep with the detective wrapped around him in a strangely perfect fit.  


End file.
